Freezer Burn
by The Noble Platypus
Summary: In which Castle and Beckett attempt to survive two hours in cold storage with nothing but "mild hypothermia" to show for it.  Rating for naughty language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hello, my lovelies! This is my first foray into Castle fanfic, but I just couldn't resist. This was prompted by my frustrations with the infamous Freezer Scene (mostly my personal belief that two intelligent people from New York would, collectively, know more than "absolutely nothing" regarding hypothermia, and my sorrow over all the wasted hardcore cuddling opportunities). I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** If I actually owned any of this nonsense, what you would have seen on the show would have resembled what you are about to read.

* * *

To be honest, Kate Beckett hadn't really thought that shooting the door would accomplish much. It just felt better than doing nothing. _Anything_ would have felt better than just standing there, watching him watching her with that godawful, frightened look in his eyes. "Castle… I could use a silver lining right about now, okay?" Beckett said, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"Yeah. Um…" Castle stepped toward her, shoulders hunched in a mostly ineffectual attempt to keep his neck warm. "I wish I had one," he said. Looking up at him, taking in his worried expression, she offered a smile that she hoped would come across as brave.

Castle returned it briefly, and then his expression changed. She had seen his 'just got an idea' face often enough to recognize it immediately. "Hang on," he said, before turning away and walking over to Jamal's body beneath its plastic shroud. With a whispered apology to the corpse-which Beckett could hear clearly enough in the small space-Castle whisked off the plastic sheet and bundled it in his arms.

"I hope you're not planning on slicing him open like a tauntaun," Beckett said dryly, "because we wouldn't fit."

Castle looked back at her, astonished, and then grinned. "While I truly appreciate the _Star Wars _reference, Beckett, I think the plastic will do just as well."

"Do what just as well?" Beckett eyed the thin sheet dubiously.

"Insulate." He crossed back over to her, took in her expression, and continued, "Look, I'm no expert, but it can get cold in the Hamptons, so I made sure Alexis knew at least the basics of how to stave off hypothermia."

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it wasn't Alexis making sure _you _knew the basics?"

Castle's brief hesitation was all the answer she needed. "Don't make me blush, Detective; it's a waste of valuable body heat," he said, shaking out the plastic sheet. The rustle masked Beckett's involuntary snort of amusement. "And for your information," he continued, "I've researched hypothermia. Not extensively, but I thought it might make for an interesting plot point." Beckett bit back a smirk at Castle's wounded pride, but the mirth she was feeling was snuffed out moments later by the look he gave her. It was grave and determined, and so damn _earnest _it might have brought tears to her eyes if they weren't already misting up from the cold.

"If our only option is waiting to be rescued," he said quietly, "then I'd like us to be able to wait as long as possible."

Beckett nodded her agreement, not quite trusting her voice.

"Okay." Castle took a breath, as if steadying himself, and nodded at her. "Unzip your jacket."

Beckett stiffened and gave him a withering look. "That doesn't sound conducive to warming."

"I'm not asking you to take it off. Look, mine's open," he said, almost pleading. "You'll thank me in a minute."

"You sure about that?" she asked.

Castle swept the plastic around his shoulders like a cape and gave her a perturbed sideways glance. "No."

Beckett raised an eyebrow at him, but unzipped her jacket. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Castle _did _probably know more about hypothermia than she did. The only bit of trivia she could remember involved nudity and a sleeping bag, and even if they'd had a sleeping bag, there was no way in hell Castle was getting _that_ lucky.

He sat down, wincing as he came into contact with the frost-covered floor, and loosely crossed his legs. "Okay," he said, wincing again for reasons that Beckett suspected had nothing to do with the cold, "now, you just sit _here..."_

Beckett didn't move. Nor did she say anything, though several potential exclamations presented themselves, most of them variations on the theme: _you have got to be shitting me. _If Castle's expression was anything to go by, she might as well have spoken aloud.

"I'll behave myself," he promised. Though it probably took some effort on his part, he managed to school his expression into something very like reproach. "Our _lives _are at stake, Kate."

Now it was her turn to blush. He was right, and he was obviously no more comfortable with the idea than she was. Her hesitation seemed childish in retrospect. Gritting her teeth in annoyance, both at herself and at the entire situation, she gingerly lowered herself to the ground.

Castle busied himself with the plastic sheet, giving her time to adjust. She needed it; she wasn't on his lap so much as between his legs, and the floor was _freezing._ She'd probably be numb within minutes... which could be a blessing, she supposed.

"Could you lean forward a bit?" Castle asked, frowning over her shoulder at what must have been a misbehaving bit of plastic. Beckett swallowed a few sharp comments about how little space there was and leaned towards him, all but burying her face in his shoulder. The plastic rustled, and he made a small, triumphant sound. "There. You can lean back a little if you want."

Beckett lifted her head and took in Castle's handiwork. He'd curled the plastic sheet into a rough cone shape, like a teepee. It was open in the top, so they wouldn't smother, but the air was so still inside the cone that it already seemed a bit warmer. "Nice work," she said, impressed in spite of herself.

"Thanks. It should stay up without me holding it if I've rigged it right." He pulled his hands back, eyeing the cone with some trepidation, and visibly relaxed when it stayed put.

"It already feels better," Beckett said, though she was realizing that the effect was not that great. Better than well below freezing was still pretty damn cold, all things considered, and the plastic was thin enough that she doubted it would hold in much heat. She ducked her head, not wanting Castle to see her expression as she tried to rub some feeling back into her fingers.

"Here," Castle said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "scoot a bit closer." When she hesitated, he explained, "You can put your hands inside my coat. It'll be warmer."

_Warmer _sounded good, but she wouldn't be able to move much closer to him without wrapping her legs around him. Part of her was mortified by the thought, but the larger part of her didn't care _what _it took to stop shivering. Pressing her lips together, she rearranged herself, moving carefully to avoid upsetting their plastic tent.

"Um," Castle said, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

Beckett glanced up at him. "I'm armed, Castle."

"Noted," he replied, looking up at the plastic with more intensity than was probably necessary.

Once she was as comfortable as she thought she was likely to get (i.e. not very), Beckett gingerly poked her hands between his shirt and his jacket. He hadn't been lying; it _was _warmer. Before she knew it, she was wrapping her arms around him, pulling herself closer, and tucking her head over his shoulder. It felt _fantastic._ She managed to stop herself from sighing, but only just.

Castle, for his part, seemed unable to move. She could see his arm hovering beside her, though she wasn't sure if it was fear or shock that held him back. Biting back a smile, she said, "I suppose you want to return the favor."

She heard him swallow. "Well... in the interest of not freezing to death..."

Now she did sigh, a little huff of exasperation. "Go ahead. This was your idea." Then she shivered, and if her words hadn't convinced him, that did. His arms closed around her, his hands tucked beneath the hem of her jacket. Now she understood why he'd wanted her jacket open-the exchange of body heat was easier with fewer layers. She almost felt _snug._ The arrangement had more than its fair share of awkward, but damn if it wasn't working well enough for her to start silently recalculating their estimated survival time. It was definitely higher than it had been ten minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," Castle said a few minutes later, startling her.

"What?" she considered pulling away so she could frown at him, but decided against re-exposing her front to the cold air. She settled for frowning at the plastic sheet a few inches from her nose. "Why?"

"For getting you into this. Going rogue."

For a moment, Beckett was speechless-not because she had nothing to say, but because she had plenty to say and didn't know where to begin. She was brimming with indignation, and it hadn't even taken ten words on his part to get her there. He certainly had a way with them. "This isn't your fault."

"It was my idea."

Beckett almost did pull away at that, outraged at hearing her own words thrown back at her-as if she'd meant them as an accusation! Did he honestly think that she was _blaming_ him? "I didn't have to indulge it," she snapped. "It was my call, Castle. I should be the one apologizing." Belatedly, she realized that she hadn't sounded the least bit apologetic.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Good point," Castle said, trying to lighten the mood, no doubt. "In that case, I forgive you."

She should have been mollified, but she was still angry. Something hadn't been addressed-something important, though she couldn't figure out what. She mentally reviewed the conversation, and then it hit her. "And, Castle? Don't talk about 'getting _me _into this,' like I'm the only one here who matters. We're _both _in this." Perhaps it was nitpicky of her to complain, but even if he hadn't meant anything by it, a writer should choose his words more carefully, damn it.

For a few moments, Castle's only response was a slight tightening of his grip. "Okay," he said.

Another silence fell, this one more companionable than the last. Beckett blinked a few times, resisting the impulse to close her eyes. Falling asleep had to be a bad idea; she just couldn't think of anything else to do besides talk. She didn't know of any topics of conversation appropriate for sitting in a freezer and waiting for improbable rescue. Anything too light would be ludicrous, and she wasn't sure she wanted to go in the other direction.

As if reading her mind, Castle said, "We need to talk."

Beckett hesitated, fighting back the mild surge of panic the phrase had induced. "About what?"

"Anything, as long as it keeps us awake." He shifted. "Nothing too boring. I'm open to ideas."

Relaxing a little, Beckett tried to think of something suitably interesting. It was harder than she thought it would be. She wasn't about to bring up Josh again-she already felt bad for dumping her relationship woes on Castle when they were sitting in quarantine-but so much of the rest of her life was spent with Castle in tow, what else could she tell him that he didn't already know? They were beyond small talk. But if small talk was out, what did that leave?

"So," Castle said, breaking the silence, "how long were you planning on holding out on me?"

Beckett started. Had he been able to see her face, he probably would have laughed at the uncharacteristic deer-in-headlights expression she was undoubtedly wearing. "What?" she said, her voice higher than usual.

"I can't believe it took me this long to get a _Star Wars _reference out of you." He was smiling; she could hear it in his tone. Briefly, she debated the relative merits of leaving her arm where it was warmer versus pulling it out for the purpose of smacking him. "I didn't know you made _Star Wars _references," he continued, apparently oblivious to the discomfort he'd caused. "I didn't know you'd _seen Star Wars!"_

"Everyone has seen _Star Wars." _Beckett rolled her eyes.

"What, did you think I wouldn't appreciate it?" Castle asked in exaggerated indignation. "You know I have the lightsaber app on my phone."

Beckett smiled in spite of herself. She did know; he had whipped out his phone one day and had an epic mock battle with Esposito in the bullpen, ending with Esposito triumphant and Castle slumped to the floor beside her desk in a drawn-out parody of agonizing death. It had distracted her from some important paperwork, but she'd been laughing too hard to scold. "Too bad you don't have a real lightsaber. One of those would come in handy right about now."

"Very true," came the grave reply. Then, a faint note of concern in his voice, he asked, "How are you holding up?"

Her impulse was to say that she was fine, but given the circumstances, he would probably call bullshit. Still, _I'm fucking freezing, not to mention embarrassed that I have to sit here and cling to you like a koala bear just to keep my extremities from dropping off, _didn't seem like a viable response, either. "Better," she finally said. "I can just about feel my fingers again." There. Honest, but not _too _honest. Castle shivered, and Beckett frowned. "You?"

"Fine."

She almost laughed. "Bullshit."

"I've been _better..."_

"I'm right here,Castle. Do you think you can shiver without me noticing?"

"Shivering's _good," _he objected. "Well, comparatively good."

Beckett resisted the impulse to ask if crazy talk was a symptom of hypothermia, and instead asked, "Compared to what?"

Castle hesitated. "Being so cold that your body stops bothering?"

She no longer felt like laughing. "Castle... what exactly are we dealing with, here?" When he didn't reply, she gave his back a brief rub. It was as close as she could get to snapping her fingers in his face without resorting to pinching (which was still an option, especially if he didn't answer her question in the next ten seconds). "Come on," she prompted in a tone she usually reserved for the interrogation room, "I want to know what we're up against."

"Well," he began, "keep in mind that it's been a while since I looked it up. I don't remember everything, and I'm not positive that what I _do _remember is accurate."

"Fine. Just tell me what you remember."

Castle's sigh ruffled her hair. "Shivering is the first symptom. It means things aren't too bad, yet. Other symptoms include confusion, impaired motor skills, drowsiness... apathy..." he trailed off.

Beckett winced at 'apathy.' How long would they last if they stopped caring? _Then again, _a small part of her pointed out, _it might be better that way, at the end. It might be nice to not mind so much. _Not wanting to hear any more from that part of herself, Beckett gave Castle's back another little scrub. "Anything else?"

"Hm?" Castle started. "Sorry, I just got a bit tired and lost interest. What were we talking about?"

For a moment, Beckett was speechless. Then, she pinched him.

"Ow!" Castle yelped, though she could clearly hear an undercurrent of laughter beneath the indignation.

"Don't be an ass," Beckett snapped, her voice shaking with mingled annoyance and relief.

"I couldn't resist," he said, still amused. But when he added, "I'm sorry," it sounded sincere. Then, to Beckett's surprise, he punctuated his apology by rubbing a few slow, soothing circles against her back.

_You started it, _she realized once she'd gotten over the initial shock. She couldn't object without sounding hypocritical at best; nor, to be honest, was she certain that she wanted to object at all. It was... _nice. _Comforting-not that she would have admitted to wanting any comfort beyond a significant increase in the ambient temperature. As he continued, it suddenly occurred to her that he might not even realize what he was doing; it could just be an absent-minded, automatic gesture from a good father in Soothing Mode.

Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, and was waiting to see how she'd react. _What the hell are you playing at, Castle?_

_Maybe he's not playing at anything._ Her breath hitched, and she realized with no small amount of mortification that she was on the verge of tears. She turned her head away, pressing her cheek against the wooly roughness of his coat, and prayed he wouldn't notice.

But of course he noticed. His hand had stilled the moment her breath had caught. "Beckett?"

She wanted to respond, but she knew any attempt at speech would as likely result in a sob as anything coherent. She clamped her lips together in an attempt to stop them from trembling. _Get ahold of yourself!_

"Hey," Castle said, worry creeping into his tone. Of course he couldn't just drop it; heaven forbid she survive this ordeal with her dignity intact. "Are you okay?"

'I'm fine, Castle,'she wanted to say, even though she was far from it. She had avoided thinking about the worst case scenario because she figured that was the sensible thing to do; there was nothing to be gained from dwelling on how bad things could get. Now, as that no-longer-quite-so-small part of her occupied itself by alternately screaming, _What if you die in here?_ and _What if HE dies in here?_ she realized that the _real _reason she'd avoided thinking about the worst case scenario was because it terrified her.

Castle was still waiting for a response. All she managed was an unsteady exhalation that might as well have been a 'no.'

A beat later, Castle had removed his hands from beneath her jacket and placed them on her shoulders. Leaning back, he gently pushed her away until he could look down at her. Beckett ducked her head, though she knew she was only delaying the inevitable, and a moment later one of his hands was beneath her chin, tilting her face up. Castle took in her expression, and then looked stricken. "Kate..."

She ducked her head again, embarrassed and upset and guilty because now she'd upset _him. _He'd been feeling cheerful enough to make a joke, and she'd responded with a damn panic attack. She shivered. Castle hesitated, and then pulled her back toward him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that probably had little to do with the economical exchange of body heat. That was just as well; she was pretty sure her shivering had little to do with the cold. Burying her face in the warm gap between his neck and his turned-up coat collar, she tried to steady her breathing.

"I'm sorry," Castle repeated, sounding almost frantic. "Kate, I... I'll never joke about hypothermia again."

She let out a huff of air that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She wasn't upset because he'd made a stupid joke, but she didn't think she could articulate just what _had _upset her. She wasn't certain that she even understood it, herself—not completely. Given the circumstances, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"I won't even make sarcastic comments at the end of 'Titanic,' I promise."

A watery chuckle escaped her, and she felt the panic begin to subside. Castle was still talking as if it was a given that they would make it out, and the last thing she wanted to do was call that unspoken assumption into question. "Don't promise that," she replied, her voice unsteady but at least under control. "I'd hate to think I ruined 'Titanic' for you."

She could feel him relax a little, and heard his faint sigh of relief. "Are you sure?" he asked, substantially less frantic than he had been a few moments ago. "I take my promises very seriously."

The impulse to say, _Promise we'll get out of here, _struck her, but she bit it back. She knew he would, and she knew he couldn't keep it; their only chance of getting out was being found, and there were more important things to look for in the city than two people who, in all likelihood, weren't even technically missing. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"You could pinch me again, if it would make you feel better," he suggested. "I deserve it." Beckett smiled into his shirt collar as he tentatively resumed rubbing her back. "I was an ass," he admitted. "I'm sorry you're stuck with me."

"Stop apologizing," Beckett said, her tone sharper than she'd intended. Hugging him a bit tighter, she added in a gentler tone, "I'm glad you're here." They fell into a comfortable silence, and it wasn't until after a minute had passed that the implications of what she had said sunk in. "I mean, I'm not glad you're locked in a freezer…"

"I know what you meant," he reassured her—grinning, from the sound of it. He turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against her hair. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

* * *

So ends Part the First. Part the Second is still in production. If you'd like to hurry things along, leave a review! I get so nervy about characterization, a little encouragement goes a long way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Firstly, you guys are awesome. Secondly, here's the final installment. Apologies for the delay (my weekend was more eventful than I had anticipated), and I truly hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** This chapter contains Slightly Loopy!Beckett, who was far, far too much fun to write.

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett was having a very difficult time staying awake.

Objectively, she knew it didn't make sense. Her life was in very real danger—as was Castle's, for that matter, though he seemed to be holding up better than she was—and in all the previous instances she could think of in which her life had been in danger, she had been wide awake. Even if she'd been almost dead on her feet before disaster struck, mortal peril was an effective stimulant.

So here she was, over an hour spent locked in cold storage, and while she should have been climbing the walls, looking for a way out, all she wanted to do was nap. The exhaustion of their all-nighter had caught up with her (of course, she hadn't been tired _then; _they'd been too busy trying to save the world to consider the importance of a good night's sleep), and it was surprisingly comfortable in their little plastic fort. She still shivered—they both did—but with her hands tucked inside Castle's coat and her head tucked under his chin, she felt quite cozy. She could just drift off. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

"Don't you dare," Castle said, his voice shaking, just like the rest of him. It was almost like sitting in a massage chair.

Beckett gave a surprised start, though she doubted it stood out from the near-constant shivering she already had going on. "What?"

"Don't go to sleep."

_Holy shit! _How had he known? She almost laughed in her astonishment. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush, she asked, "Did you just _read my mind?"_

Castle let out a little huff of frustration. "I didn't have to. You just said you were thinking about it."

"Oh." Beckett blinked. She didn't remember actually saying anything. Had she been thinking aloud without realizing it?

"Yes," he said testily, "you have."

His annoyance burned off some of the fog that had been weaving its way through her mind, and she frowned, her earlier near-giddiness gone. It was difficult to focus on anything anymore, but Castle was impossible to ignore. Even awash with fatigue and light-headedness, she knew—she was _certain _that she didn't want to upset him. Gritting her teeth, she shifted into a more upright position and rested her chin on his shoulder. If he wanted her to stay awake, then damn it, she would stay awake.

Still. "I'm so tired, Castle."

"I know." He didn't sound annoyed anymore, he just sounded _sad, _which was much worse, as far as Beckett was concerned. "Me, too."

"Hey, it's okay," she said soothingly, running her hands up and down his back. She had no idea what else she could say, she just wanted to make him feel better without resorting to outrageous lies. "It'll all be okay."

He sat up a bit. "You know, I think you're on to something with this back-rubbing thing."

"Hm?" She stopped, confused.

"The friction creates heat," he explained, rubbing her back more briskly than he had before and ultimately causing her sweatshirt to bunch up. "Damn," he muttered, and Beckett couldn't help but snort in amusement.

"My hero," she deadpanned. "Pull my sweatshirt back down; my back's getting cold."

"Actually," he said in a pensive, cautious tone that set off warning klaxons in her head, "would you be horribly offended if I put my hands under your sweatshirt? I'll keep them over your shirt. No funny business. It would be warmer for both of us."

Beckett shut her eyes briefly. "I'm still armed, Castle."

"And if I do anything inappropriate, you may shoot me."

She waited a few moments, giving him a chance to change his mind, and then sighed heavily. "Go ahead," she said, hoping her tone would adequately convey her lack of enthusiasm at the prospect.

Castle hesitated. "Really?"

"Just put your hands under my damn sweatshirt, Castle," she snapped, exasperated. "You're letting cold air in!"

"Sorry!" He hurriedly slipped one hand beneath her sweatshirt, using the other to tug down the hem. But when he tried to tuck his other hand beneath her sweatshirt, the hem was pushed back up.

"Castle…" Beckett warned through gritted teeth.

"I can fix it!" he insisted, plucking ineffectually at the soft interior of the fabric.

"'Warmer for both of us,' my ass," she grumbled, though she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. His desperate efforts to rectify the situation were hilarious, it was just the cold air whooshing up her back that wasn't amusing. Finally, she said, "I don't think you're going to be able to put them both in there."

He sighed. "I think you're right. Oh, well. I can alternate." He kept his left hand beneath her sweatshirt—it was cold enough that she was surprised he hadn't asked for inside-sweatshirt clearance sooner—and used the right to pull the hem down and hold it in place. "There. Better?"

Beckett gave a non-committal hum. It wasn't pleasant having his ice cube of a hand only one thin layer of fabric away from her skin, but she didn't want his hands to freeze, either. "What were you saying about back-rubbing?"

"Oh! Right." He cautiously tried it, his left hand sliding over the fabric of her shirt without bunching it. "Well, as I was saying, the friction creates heat, so that's good. Plus, it's a sort of non-verbal way to keep tabs. As long as my hand is moving, you'll know I haven't passed out or anything." He paused. "And vice versa."

Beckett let out a quiet snort. That explained it. "So you want me to rub your back to prove I'm awake, is what you're saying."

"I'm saying it would be a mutually beneficial exercise," he replied. "It'll make us both warmer, and if one of us stops, we'll know something's up." When she didn't immediately commence rubbing his back, he added, "At least I'm not asking you to recite poetry or name all the US Presidents in alphabetical order."

Cringing at the thought, Beckett begrudgingly moved her hands over his back, wondering how long she'd be able to keep it up before she cramped. "If this is so mutually beneficial, why do I have the distinct feeling that you owe me, Castle?"

"When we get out of here, I'll buy you dinner."

She smirked in spite of herself. "Shouldn't you have done that _before _you stuck your hand up my shirt?"

"Probably," he replied, "which is why I intend to make it up to you."

"If we get out of here," she said, more to herself than to him.

Castle only hesitated for a moment before insisting, "When." After a beat, he added, "After all, _you _can't die in here. It would be too ironic."

Beckett hummed thoughtfully. "I did always assume I'd take a bullet or something."

"No, I mean, you inspired a character named _Heat," _Castle said. "You can't freeze to death. The press would have a field day; it would be all over the papers."

Considering the prospect, Beckett winced. "Oh, god."

"Exactly! It would be front page news, and I know how you hate to make the front page." He sounded almost cheery. "And the headline would be a really obnoxious attempt at wordplay, like, 'IN THE BATTLE OF FIRE AND ICE, HEAT LOSES.' Don't give them the satisfaction."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Beckett sighed. "I guess I don't have any other option."

"That's the spirit."

She smiled briefly. It was good to hear him sounding happier. Sobering, she added, "You can't die in here, either."

"Oh?" he said inquiringly.

She knew he was just trying to keep the conversation going, or fish for compliments, or both. She knew he expected her to come up with something vaguely sarcastic and amusing, but her brain wouldn't cooperate. It just kept churning out depressing things she wouldn't have said for anything. _Because I don't want Ryan or Esposito or the Captain to have to explain to Martha and Alexis that you were freezing to death while they were in a spa. Because if I make it out of here, it'll only be because you saved me, and I will not let you die for me, Castle. Because it's less without you—less fun, less interesting, less everything._

"You just can't_, _okay?" she finally said.

"That's not a very compelling reason—or a reason at all, really," he replied, though the warmth in his tone made her wonder if she'd been thinking aloud again. No, she was feeling a bit more clear-headed now than she had been before. She was ninety-eight percent positive she'd kept her thoughts to herself.

Still, she didn't want him to think she'd gone sappy. "I'll kick your ass," she said. "How's that for a compelling reason?"

"That works," came the hasty reply.

Making a small, satisfied noise—_darn right_—Beckett nuzzled her way back into the gap between Castle's neck and collar.

"No dozing," he said, voice stern.

"Hey, I'm doing you a favor," Beckett replied, her voice muffled but still clearly audible in their little enclosure. "You don't have a hood—or hair. I'm just sharing the wealth."

"I have hair," he objected. "Lots of it!" His hands twitched against her back, leaving her with the impression that he had really wanted to preen but had thought better of removing his hands from the relative warmth beneath her jacket. "Thick, manly hair," he finished sulkily.

"Not enough to cover your ears." She pointed out, shutting her eyes. "Your left ear will thank me for this. And then, in a few minutes, I'll switch sides." She smothered a yawn, distantly aware that she was close to dozing off and that doing so would be a Bad Thing To Do. She couldn't remember _why, _though; it seemed like a sound idea to her. Then Castle gave her back a particularly brisk rub, and she remembered. Biting back a groan of frustration, she upped her back-rubbing efforts.

"So," she said a few moments later, knowing that only conversation would keep her awake, "just what about _this_ did you think would make for a good plot point?"

Castle paused. "Huh?"

"You said you researched hypothermia, but you never used it in any of your books."

"Ah. And you'd know, wouldn't you?" he asked, sounding almost smug.

She was too tired to banter. "Answer the question, Castle."

He let out a rather exaggerated sigh. "I don't think anything about _this _makes for good storytelling. Why force your characters to sit around and talk? There's no reason, unless there's something vital to the plot—or to the characters—that one or both of them are unwilling to discuss in casual conversation." Beckett's eyes snapped open and her arms stilled for a moment before she caught herself and hurriedly recommenced rubbing his back. To her private relief, Castle gave no indication that he'd noticed, but continued on apace: "And even if that was the case, there are less contrived ways to go about it. _I _was going to write about paradoxical clothing removal."

Beckett stilled again, blinking. "What?"

"Paradoxical clothing removal," he repeated. "It's a real thing. Sometimes, people suffering from hypothermia get so confused that they remove their own clothing. If they're found in that state, they can be mistaken for victims of assault. That's perfect mystery book fodder: something that looks like something completely different."

"Aha," Beckett said, pulling back for just long enough to move her head to his other shoulder and give his right ear the benefit of her comparative surplus of hair. "If I get to that point, I want you to take my weapon and put me out of my misery."

She had meant it as a joke and had assumed he would take it as one, but when Castle replied, he sounded troubled. "I wouldn't let you get to that point."

Beckett's arms slowed, and she realized with a little jolt of surprise that she was _angry._ Somehow, this particular brave insistence of his that everything would work out in the end—only the latest in a pretty long line—had unleashed a cold rush of fury inside of her.

She was angry that they were trapped here. Angry with herself, especially, for letting it happen (god, she'd felt like _such an idiot_ when she'd heard the steel doors latch), and for being so tired—so physically and emotionally drained—that just giving up seemed like a viable, even attractive option.

And then there was Castle, his stupid, stubborn optimism like a goddamn spotlight illuminating her own cowardice and exhaustion. Every time he implied that they would make it out of there, she felt like a monster for silently disagreeing with him, even though she was certain hers was the more likely scenario. There had to be a point when hope ceased to be a good thing, when facing reality had to take precedence. There _had _to be. And while she was angry with herself for reaching that point, she was _furious_ with him because he hadn't reached it, and he wouldn't. He would just leave her to wrestle with her private despair, and it didn't matter that his arms were around her, it didn't matter that his cheek was pressed against her hair, none of it mattered because there was just no more comfort to be had. Not with him on one side of an imaginary line and her on the other.

"Hey," Castle said, concerned, and for a moment Beckett was terrified that she'd been thinking aloud again. Then he asked, "Still with me?" and she realized that her arms had stopped moving.

For a horrible, selfish moment, she considered saying something like, 'Not really.' It would be true. But she couldn't do it; she wouldn't drag him down to her level just for the company. So she resumed rubbing his back, her arms sore and her hands beyond feeling, and said, "Still here, Castle."

He wasn't appeased. "Are you holding up okay?"

Beckett hesitated. She might not be able to emulate his positive attitude, but she dared to hope that she might be able to preserve it—or, at the very least, refrain from knocking great big holes in it. "About as well as can be expected," she said dryly, hoping that would be answer enough for him.

She felt his huff of laughter more than she heard it. "That bad, huh?"

Unwilling to elaborate, not least of all because she suspected he would know immediately if she lied, Beckett kept her mouth shut. _Just drop it, Castle._

But of course, that was asking too much. "Beckett?" he prompted.

"Let it go, Castle." She'd meant it as an order, but it came out as more of a plea.

"I can't," he replied with a sort of cheerful bluntness. Sobering a little, he added, "Not even if I wanted to, Detective."

Exasperated, Beckett pulled away so she could look him in the eye and ask him… something. Plenty of questions presented themselves, chief among them: _What the hell is_ that_ supposed to mean? _But then she took in his expression, and any questions she might have had died in her throat. She didn't want answers. Not now, not when they were stuck in some goddamn freezer with only hours to live. No.

Castle was looking at her just as searchingly as she'd been looking at him. "Kate, I—"

"Castle…" she cut him off, almost desperate.

A faint, metallic _clang _startled both of them into silence. Turning her head towards the door—no more than a vague, rectangular blur through the plastic—Beckett held her breath.

"Did you hear—"

"Shut up, Castle."

"Okay."

_Clang! _This one was louder than the first.

"Someone's trying to get in," Castle said, his excitement evidently overriding his promise to shut up. "Is it the terrorists, do you think?"

"Who else would it be?" Beckett pulled her hands out from under Castle's coat. They were numb enough that they didn't even register the exposure to the colder air. She rubbed them together, wincing a little.

Castle watched her, worried. "What are you going to do?"

"Just stay still and be quiet," Beckett ordered. Castle looked mutinous, so she pressed a hand to his chest, both for leverage and as a silent reminder to keep his mouth shut. After another loud _clang,_ the door began to open. Beckett reached for her gun with her free hand. She could see a pair of flashlight beams criss-crossing their way towards their ersatz tent. If she was going to make a move, she had to make it now.

She drew her gun… or tried to, at any rate. Her nerveless fingers fumbled the grip, and her arm—already stiff and sore—couldn't compensate for the error and instead continued the motion of drawing her weapon, though it remained in its holster. Her hand struck something, and then she was careening into the side of the plastic tent, carried by the force of her own momentum. The cone came down beneath her with a crumple and a crunch, and she landed awkwardly on her side, one leg stuck behind Castle and the other sprawled across his lap.

Two flashlight beams blinded her, and she heard Castle indignantly say, "You _hit _me!"

The beams moved away from her face, and she started scrambling for her gun again, blinking furiously in an attempt to clear her vision, until she was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Hey, easy, Beckett," Esposito said, and she slumped, almost overcome with relief. Someone knelt beside her, and after a few moments, her vision had cleared enough for her to make out the concerned expression of Detective Ryan as he helped her up. She had to lean on him heavily; her legs were no more cooperative than her hands had been.

"You guys okay?" Ryan asked, eyeing the wreckage of their tent with curiosity and what looked like the bare beginnings of amusement. Beckett's jaw tightened; Ryan and Esposito might be too concerned to comment right now, but she knew she was never going to live this down.

"We're fine," she said with more force than was probably necessary, and Ryan raised his free hand in playful appeasement.

"Speak for yourself," Castle retorted as Esposito hauled him to his feet. "You got me right in the nose."

Beckett suppressed an eye roll. "How did you guys find us?"

"Aren't you even going to apologize?" Castle asked, incredulous, before either of the detectives could respond. "It hurt!"

"How about we get out of this freezer?" Esposito suggested. "_Then _we can chat."

They made their way towards the door far more slowly than Beckett would have liked, though she knew she wasn't capable of anything faster than a toddle. From the looks of things, Castle wasn't, either. "Well, thank god it was you two and not the bad guys," he said, leaning on Esposito for support, "because that would have been a really embarrassing final showdown."

"Shut up, Castle," Beckett said, trying to get her stiff legs to cooperate.

"I'm just saying, you didn't even manage to get your gun out of its holster."

Beckett shook her head, too grateful for their improbable rescue to feel truly annoyed. "You want me to try again? I bet I could get it this time. And at least my last words wouldn't have been, 'you _hit _me,'" she added.

"Those are better last words than, 'oof,'" Castle replied.

"I did _not _say, 'oof.'"

Beside her, Ryan sighed. "I hate it when Mom and Dad fight."

It had been a cool night, and it was still far too early in the morning for things to have warmed up, but still, stepping out into the warehouse felt like sinking into a warm bath. Beckett pulled her hood down, allowing the air to work its way under her collar, and allowed herself a sigh of relief.

It didn't go unnoticed by Ryan. "How long were you guys in there?" he asked as Esposito spoke quietly into his radio.

"A couple of hours," Beckett guessed. "What time is it?"

Ryan checked his watch. "Just after five."

"Eleven hours until the bomb goes off," Castle said, looking grave. The van was nowhere to be seen. Turning to Esposito, who had wrapped up his radio conversation, he added, "We found the bomb, by the way."

"Yeah, we figured. We picked up trace amounts of radiation right around here," Esposito replied.

"Beckett's not the only one with cool toys," Ryan chimed in.

"There's a unit searching the warehouse. If it's still here, we'll find it."

An officer appeared with a pair of blankets in hand. Accepting one with a nod of thanks, Beckett wrapped it around herself with only a little help from Ryan. Her hands were still too far gone to function with anything close to normalcy. Similarly bundled, Castle said, "You still haven't explained how you found us."

"Alexis called," Esposito said. "She was worried—said you hadn't come home."

Beckett couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy at Castle's troubled expression. "Alexis is supposed to be out of town," he said.

Esposito shrugged. "I guess she came back."

"We figured he was at your place, Beckett," Ryan said, seamlessly picking up the narrative, "but then Josh called and said _you _weren't home, either."

"Josh is in Haiti!" Castle objected before Beckett could do more than furrow her brow, thinking the same thing.

It was Ryan's turn to shrug. "I guess he came back, too."

Beckett looked down, surprised to feel herself blush. She was sure Castle was watching her, so she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

"Anyway," Ryan continued, "knowing you two, we figured you were probably out doing something stupid against orders." Beckett gave him a sharp glance, and he cringed. "And by 'stupid,' I, of course, meant…" he looked at the storage freezer, then adopted the expression of someone too polite to comment. "Never mind."

"So we sent patrols out to all the places we thought you might go, found your car, and searched the area until we noticed the light from the storage freezer," Esposito finished.

"Wow," Castle said after a moment of stunned silence.

Smiling faintly, Beckett gave Ryan a gentle bump with her shoulder. "Thanks, guys."

Ryan smiled back, and Esposito nodded at her. "There's an ambulance on the way. I figured you guys should get checked out. Don't want you losing any toes."

Beckett nodded, and Ryan gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. "Hey," he said, "think you guys can stand on your own for a few minutes?"

"I think we can just about manage that," she replied. Her legs were steadier, though she still couldn't feel her feet.

"Cool. If you start to fall over, yell or something." Ryan and Esposito moved a few yards away to speak to an officer who had, Beckett suspected, been hovering politely in the background for a few minutes. Castle stepped towards her, and by some unspoken agreement, they leaned against one another for support, shoulder to shoulder.

Castle poked one hand out from underneath his blanket to rub at his nose. "I rescind my dinner offer," he said with overblown offense. Beckett shook her head, knowing that while he was likely serious (or willing to be serious, at least), it had nothing to do with her hitting him. What she didn't know was whether she wanted to thank him for being such a goddamn _gentleman_, in his goofy, understated way, or whether she wanted to hit him again, on purpose. When had so many of his jokes stopped sounding like jokes and started sounding like opportunities to argue, or call him out?

Well, if was intended as bait, she wouldn't rise to it. "I'm sorry I hit you, Castle," she said instead. "It was an accident."

"Hmph," he said. Then, without any trace of levity, "The bomb isn't here."

"No, it's not." There would have been a fuss if the unit had found it, and in two hours, the terrorists could have taken the van anywhere. Still, they had more to go on than they had before—at least they knew it was in a white van. "But we found it once," she said bracingly. "We'll find it again."

"We will," he agreed, sounding more optimistic than he had a few moments ago, and she felt a small rush of pleasure at having bolstered _his_ confidence. "Partners, right?" he asked, his light tone not quite masking a faint undercurrent of apprehension.

Beckett ducked her head, fighting back a smile of fond exasperation at his apparent need to even _ask_. After all they'd been through, some things should have been beyond doubt or question. Leaning against him, she lifted her head and listened to the sound of approaching sirens.

"Partners," she agreed.

* * *

Well, there you have it. Do let me know what you thought! I'm so needy!


End file.
